Prowess
by psiten
Summary: When Kevin has questions about Atobe, Echizen never really wants to answer them; but this time, more so than usual. Warning: This is not Kevin Smith's best day.


_**Disclaimer:** The original manga Tennis no Oujisama is the work of Konomi Takeshi. Characters and settings have been adapted without authorization or approval, and I am making no profit from their use._

* * *

**Prowess**

"So, what -- is that Atobe freak seriously _that_ good in bed?"

His otherwise peaceful Tuesday had, in the hour since Kevin let himself into the apartment and took over the armchair, been occasionally disturbed by the American's brooding sighs. Not a word til this, though. Echizen looked up from the new issue of _Monthly Pro Tennis_ to give his friend a dubious look. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, please. It's like, he shows up unannounced, uninvited, and _boom_." Kevin jumped up out of his chair, waving his arms over his head as he paced. "Whatever you were doing when he walks in the room is suddenly not _half_ as important as dropping your pants _immediately_ and getting him to screw you on the nearest piece of furniture."

Well, _that_ was just about the overstatement of a lifetime.

"Umm..." Echizen said with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't even sure where Kevin would've gotten that idea, since immediate sex-having would definitely have to be predicated on _only_ he and Atobe being in the room. Audiences weren't his thing.

He drank some soda while he waited for the wild gesticulation to stop. "So what gives, huh?" Kevin went on. "Is he just the beast to end all beasts or what?"

Echizen shrugged. "He's good enough." '_Beast_' was a reasonable term, maybe, if you liked metaphors. Also, it was mildly amusing to picture Atobe in a bear costume, failing to be intimidating. Of course, if he were decked out in a fur jumpsuit, it would definitely have to come off before sex was an option.

Not that it was really anybody's business. Or something he would've expected Kevin to be thinking about.

The American plunked into the chair on the other side of the room, clearly unsatisfied. "_Good enough_?"

"Yeah," he replied and went back to an article on the new roof on Centre Court at Wimbledon. "He's good enough." It was going to be weird playing there next year on an _inside_ grass court.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Kevin went on. A moment later, his friend was pushing the magazine out of his line of sight. And he'd hoped the conversation was over. "Hey, _I'm asking you a question_. Are you talking _way_ better than other guys, or just on par, or what?"

"How would I know?" he asked, pulling his magazine back. "And why do you care?"

"I don't." An awkward silence followed as Echizen watched the blond walk back to his chair with his hands laced behind his head. Sure enough he turned around three seconds later to try again. "So, are you saying you've never slept with _anyone_ else? Not anyone?"

Echizen shook his head and tried to read about dome construction, but now his attention was shot. "Why would I?"

"Come on! You see him, what, _five times a year_?"

He shrugged. "I don't really count." It was probably more like ten at least, but who knew? Well, Atobe probably did. He was the one with the plane.

"Okay, do you want to _explain_ this?"

Echizen couldn't actually remember ever _wanting_ to explain Atobe to anybody, but that didn't stop people from asking him to. He closed up his magazine and slapped it on the table. Right now, he was annoyed. The article would have to wait for when he was back in a reading mood. Meanwhile, he took a long swig of grape soda and gave Kevin's little rant his undivided attention.

"Monogamy on five booty calls a year requires a hell of a lot more than '_good enough_', all right?"

"Maybe I like him as a person," Echizen countered.

A visit from Atobe was a hell of a lot more than a '_booty call_'.

Kevin didn't look impressed. "No. I've met him. _I don't believe you_."

"Suit yourself," he replied. Then Echizen heard certain footsteps coming up the hallway that couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's. Talk about timing. "Or you could ask _him_ if you want. He loves telling people what I think."

"What?" Kevin asked. Then, the door flew wide open. There weren't trumpets or confetti, but there might as well have been from the entrance Atobe made. The American rolled his eyes, muttering, "Oh, _great_," and plopped back down in the armchair.

"Kabaji. Have the valet hold the car nearby," The Man Himself called out with a wave of his hand.

Atobe's constant companion grunted, handed off the white gift bag he was carrying, and walked away. Kevin looked up at a corner of the ceiling and ignored everyone, like he always did when he was in a bad mood and people started talking in Japanese. Of course, most of Echizen's friends weren't going to stop knowing Japanese better than they knew English, and he wasn't going to stop using it in private conversations just because there was someone in earshot who wouldn't learn more than '_Where's the bathroom?_', '_Where's Echizen Ryoma?_', and '_Play a match with me_'. They'd been over that before.

"Hey," he said to the new arrival. He stood up to get his racket bag from next to Kevin's chair, ignoring the way his friend was now pointedly ignoring _him_. "What's up?"

"I was delayed negotiating property in Milan," Atobe began, "but the councilman did introduce me to a Sicilian pastry chef whose cannoli were very nearly perfection. Alas, perfection that wouldn't stand up to an international flight. I'll simply have to have him over next time you're in Japan."

Which meant Atobe had something other than pastry in the bag, then.

His friend approached, pulling out what looked like a baseball cap with a rustling of tissue paper. He could make out a faint grey '_DG_' logo on the white paper when Atobe got close enough to pull the hat onto his head. Maybe he didn't need a hat _from Italy_, but it was good to have and it fit. He'd been planning to pick one up at the pro shop today -- his old one had gotten eaten by a zipper on his racket case almost a week ago.

"There we are," his visitor went on, pushing some hair behind Echizen's ear before he dropped his hand. "The trade of the hatmaker was named for Milan, you know. '_Millinery_'. And for hats, there is still nowhere better I've found."

"Thanks."

"We should have our match first, I believe. It's not quite late enough for lunch."

"Definitely match first," Echizen replied, then smirked at the scowl Kevin was throwing at Atobe from the chair.

The American turned his scowl to face the smirk. "You know I hate it when you talk Japanese _over my head_."

That was when it clicked. Kevin had no idea what Atobe had said.

Which meant he had no idea that the two of them had been planning to play tennis.

This could be fun.

"Oi," he said. "Kevin."

The blond looked up, still pissed. "_What?_"

Echizen leaned his racket bag back against the wall and pointed at the recent arrival. "Atobe just walked into the room."

"_And?_" Kevin asked.

He shrugged. "And you're sitting on the nearest piece of furniture."

His friend looked vaguely sickened, but he still stood up. "Seriously!? _It's not even lunchtime_."

Echizen just sat down in Kevin's place and leaned back with his arms behind his head. He didn't really have a '_getting Atobe to screw him_' pose.

"_Unbelievable_. And I am never going to be able to sit in that chair again," Kevin muttered under his breath, then slammed the door behind him as he left the room.

"Did he just say that he can't sit in your chair?" asked Atobe, who was looking at the slammed door with some confusion.

"He thinks we're having sex in it." Echizen stood and pulled his bag up onto his shoulder. "Kevin's been acting weird all morning. Kept asking how good you are in bed."

Atobe laughed. "As if mere words could express the awe-inspiring marvel that is my prowess!"

"Figured you'd have an opinion," he said, peeking out the door to make sure Kevin had found his way out before they left. The coast looked clear.

Atobe joined him at the door, arms crossed. "I'll admit to some curiosity about how _you_ answered him."

Echizen scratched his head. He had his bag, his new hat was on his head, his opponent was right there, but was pretty sure he'd forgotten something. "Oh," he said distractedly while he scanned the room, "I said you were good enough."

Right. _Soda_.

He walked back over to the table, chugged the last of it, and pitched it in the can while the sound of Atobe's amusement filled the room.

When he got back to the door, Atobe's hand settled comfortably on his shoulder, and there was a whisper by his ear.

"Exacting standards have never been more proudly met."

He shook his head with a grin, and as they started down the hall, his friend let out one last, long chuckle.

Echizen had to admit -- he missed that sound some days.

Also, he was pretty good in bed.

[The End]


End file.
